


Lessons for the World to Come

by Maaedaae



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bickering, Dalish guilt, Eventual Fade Stuffs, Eventual Fluff, Exalted Plains, F/M, POV Inquisitor, POV Third Person Limited, Sera Being Sera, Solas Being Solas, The Iron Bull is a saint, The quest for the "stupid magic-elf-deer-thingy."
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 12:04:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10536093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maaedaae/pseuds/Maaedaae
Summary: In which our intrepid heroes seek to gain the favor of the Dalish of the Exalted Plains, make a pretty poor first go of it and decide to camp near the ruins of a certain elvhen bathhouse.





	

**Author's Note:**

>    
> This story will most likely contain three-to-four chapters. But I have been known to lie. 
> 
> The first chapter does what many opening chapters traditionally do -- it sets the stage for the story. For the most part, it focuses on Sera and Solas -- predominantly Sera. I don't think she gets nearly enough face time in most Sollavellan fan fiction. When she does, she's usually at odds with the Inquisitor. It bums me out.
> 
> I absolutely loved the in-game back-and-forth between Sera and Solas. I'd often run a three-person party, just to make sure that when party-banter was triggered, it would always be those two, getting on one another's nerves. As far as characters go, their differences are considerable, and their similarities are striking; each is clearly meant to serve as a foil for the other. It makes for really fun writing.
> 
> Unlike my other pieces, there is very little fluff in the opening chapter of this story. If that's what you came for, you'll find it later. It will give you cavities, I promise.

"If you hate a person, you hate something in him that is part yourself. What isn't part ourselves doesn't disturb us."  
\-- Hermann Hesse, Demian

* * *

 

Like a dying soldier suspended on an enemy blade, tenuous light lingered stubbornly in the sky. It painted the surrounding rock formations in shades of scarlet and shadow. Even that would soon be washed away in blossoming darkness, for night fell swiftly over the plains of Dirthavaren. 

 

Inquisitor Lavellan gazed out into the fading light, uncanny amber eyes searching the horizon for signs of her quarry. Leaning forward and clicking her tongue sharply, she pressed a palm against the massive, muscular auburn neck of her hart.The beast responded with a deep, keening whistle and nimbly leapt over a small pile of ancient rubble. There were ruins nearby.From behind her came the sound of a rude, wet and all-too-familiar noise. 

 

Someone was blowing raspberry at her. 

 

It lasted about thirty seconds — probably setting a new record, she thought. 

 

“Thoughts, Sera?” the Inquisitor asked, her tone conveying equal parts amusement and annoyance. She leaned back and turned her head in the direction the sound had come.

 

The younger elf was — for lack of a better term — sprawled atop her mount, arms and legs dangling listlessly from each side of the beleaguered horse. 

 

“Bored!” the rogue moaned, giving a single syllable word the length of a robust sentence. “Been riding for bloody hours! Ain’t ever gonna catch that stupid magic-elf-deer-thingy.” 

 

With a petulant twist and flop, Sera repositioned, transforming the belly-based sprawl into a casual recline, her back now braced against the curve of her saddle. As graceless as the display had been, Lavellan knew a feat of dexterous skill when she saw one. The ears of the archer’s horse twitched in agitation. 

 

“And who is to blame for the wasted hours?” accused a crisp voice from yet further behind them. 

Bringing his own hart to a trot, Solas closed the gap in moments.

 

The youngest member of their party lifted a single finger and opened her mouth to speak. The elvhen apostate did not give her the chance. 

 

“Perhaps it was she who first approached it— arms waving, shouting lewd obscenities?” he continued, lips curling in a slight sneer. “Regarding the _Hanal’ghilan_ like some common barnyard beast — what did you think would happen, idiot child?” (1)

 

Sera only cackled in unapologetic delight, a second digit rising to join the first, forming her profane gesture of choice.

 

Taking the bait, Solas snarled something caustic in the mother tongue. 

 

The archer let loose another raspberry of defiance. 

 

And on and on it went.

 

But that was Sera for you, the Inquisitor reflected as she watched the two bicker likedisagreeable siblings. The elf-girl seized any opportunity to spit in the eye of the opposition—even if she was standing downwind. In the middle of a hurricane. None of that would stop the mad, fearless creature. Knowing Sera, she’d just laugh, wipe her own spittle from her eye and try again. 

 

“ _Indomitable_.” the Inquisitor muttered to herself, recalling a time, not so long ago when Solas had complemented her own focus. In her mind, the word belonged to Sera, wholly and completely— though she’d never tell him that. _What a waste of a beautiful adjective_ she thought, watching in horrified fascination as Sera thrust one of her uplifted fingers into a nostril, fished around, and then casually flicked its contents at the back of the older elf mage as he forced his mount past her.

 

He hadn’t noticed. 

 

The Inquisitor gave silent thanks to every god of every culture and shot the girl a warning look that would have made Keeper Deshanna proud. Unfazed, Sera merely batted her eyelashes and blew her _fearless leader_ a coquettish kiss. Inquisitor Lavellan just sighed, shook her head and turned around. It was really all one could do when dealing with Sera.

 

Indomitable. That fool child was indomitability made tangible — and woe to anyone who thought otherwise.

 

“S’gettin’ dark” Sera called out, still not ready to let the matter lie. “Won’t find shite in the dark — ‘cept maybe a broken neck from tripping over rocks and falling off cliffs.” Sera suddenly squealed in delight, as if her own words had gifted her with miraculous inspiration. _Little liar_ , the Inquisitor thought—not without a hint of fondness. She would bet two crowns and her left hand that the next words to leave the elf-girl's mouth were the first she had thought of. Everything else was just a path to the destination. “Maybe we’ll get lucky, fall off a cliff and _land_ on the Hanal’goober!” the rogue crowed in speculative joy.

 

“I have complete confidence in your ability to avoid such a fate, _inan’leal_.” Inquisitor Lavellan told the elf-girl, gesturing in Sera’s direction with a dismissive wave of her hand. The hand froze. She fought the urge to slap herself upside the head with it. (2)

 

She really should have known better by now. By speaking those words, she had just broken the First Law of Sera:Avoid All Things Elvhen. Always.

 

There was a rustle of movement as Sera lunged into a rider’s position and kicked her horse into action. The rogue was at the Inquisitor’s side before the words had finished leaving her lips.

 

“What’d you call me?” the archer growled, glaring at her with a look of such open hostility that it could have wilted flowers. 

 

Sera was often quick to take offense, to expect the worst of people — but never this fast. Solas had her on edge. Sera had Solas on edge. In that moment, the Inquisitor arrived at the realization that it might be time to start giving up any hope of facilitating a reconciliation between her two companions — if not just for the sake of her own sanity.

 

“Nothing bad!” she hastily assured, her hands shooting up in an act of surrender. 

 

Something in the gesture relaxed the other elf-girl, but her expression was still one of dubious resentment. 

 

“But ill-fitting, nonetheless.” Solas suddenly scoffed, clearly in no rush to help diffuse situation. “ _Inan’leal_ —truly? Better would be _inan’dianem —_ her eyes are not bright, they are clos—“ (3)

 

Leaning so that her body was nigh parallel to the ground, Lavellan swatted at his hart emphatically, theatrically. The beast shied away from her wild swings, taking its rider with it. She watched him turn his head as he struggled to suppress a smile. 

 

_You cheeky ass_ she thought, feeling her stomach muscles pull taunt as her body fought to ignore the siren song of the ground beneath her. 

 

Solas knew when he was both the fan and the flame with Sera — and he delighted in it. He should have known better. He _was_ older. 

 

_Fenedhis_ , she was even starting to sound like Deshanna now.Mythal wept.

 

When Inquisitor Lavellan finally righted herself and faced her other companion, Sera made no attempt to hide her grin. 

 

Sera never hid her smiles. She wore them like a noblewoman might wear an expensive hat — with a great deal of pride, pomp and ceremony, making sure that everyone in the room who might see it would _most definitely_ see it.

 

“Inquisitor, huh? So, like, people looked at you and thought ‘yeah, yeah! That’s who I want to lead me. I voted for her. Twice.’” the rogue laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. 

 

There was peace for several, glorious seconds. Nations rejoiced. 

 

“Yes, but only after I showed them that trick” the Inquisitor shot back as she winced, rubbing absently at her stomach and chest. ”Bah, armor! That isn’t nearly as fun in armor.”

 

The other elf-girl blinked. 

 

“Don’t think for one second that being daft is an excuse for going all elfy.” Sera warned. Without missing a beat, she added “ Well it is, mostly—but not for you.” 

 

The Inquisitor sighed. So close. “It’s nothing bad.“ she reiterated“Just a term of endearment — a nickname, even — in regards to—“

 

“—nightvision peepers.” Sera concluded with a roll of her eyes. 

 

“Nightvision peepers.” the Inquisitor agreed. “Yes.”

 

“Well, _yea-aahhh_ ” Sera trilled, giving the single syllable word the length of two robust sentences. “But I wasn’t referring to me, you or heil-the-empire.” She jabbed a careless thumb, indicating that the subject was somewhere behind them.

 

In an instant, the Inquisitor knew to whom Sera was referring.

 

Well, shit. 

 

Again, she spun around in the saddle and met the gaze of her final companion. 

 

“Sorry, Boss.” The Iron Bull said, shrugging apologetically. Though the huge qunari sat atop a large, dappled asaarash stallion, the warrior still managed to look slumped, uncomfortable, and just _wrong._ The Iron Bull didn’t belong on a horse. She’d never get used to seeing him on one.

 

Inquisitor Lavellan swore silently to herself. How could she have forgotten about Bull?

 

Well, she knew how — but the thought made her feel guilty. 

 

The shameful truth was that despite their shared dislike of the Dalish and very mutual distaste for one another, Sera and Solas were still elvhen. That meant something. During these sorts of expeditions, it took a conscious effort to remind herself that the three of them weren’t some fledgling, dysfunctional clan. It wasn’t fair to the two of them. Each offered her something greater than surrogate kinship. More importantly, each would hate her in his or her own special way upon learning of the lies Lavellan’s heart sometimes told her head.

 

In that moment, she missed her own people terribly— would have given anything to hear the inane chatter of her kin and the steady song of creaking aravel wheels. She remembered resenting that life, once upon a time. She remembered bundles of furs—the gentle, lulling rock of the landship as it rolled ever onwards. She remembered the slumbering breath of her sister as it tickled her, brushing across the nape of her neck in ebbing sighs; of the little yelps, yips and sighs the older elf-girl sometimes made in her sleep. Mostly, Inquisitor Lavellan remembered how she — like all children — dreamt endlessly of adventure and change.

 

The irony was not lost on her now.

 

“Oh, Bull — no. _I’m_ sorry.” she said with emphasis. Her thoughts still drifted in memory’s current, curled beside her sister in that distant ship. “We’ll head back to the clan. Keeper Hawen is a pompous ass, but he won’t refuse the rite of hospitality — with or without the Hanal’ghilan.”

 

Before and beside her—in simultaneous protest—came loud cries of “Bloody sod that!” and quiet declarations of “I’d really rather not.” 

 

Inquisitor Lavellan ground her teeth audibly. 

 

_Help me_ she mouthed pleadingly to the captain of the Chargers. 

 

A large grin spreading across Bull’s wide, battle-scarred face. _No_ he said, matching her silent speech. His single eye twinkled in merry delight. _Enjoying this too much._

 

“Solas,” she called in a voice that was honey-sweet. “Do you sense any rifts nearby?”

 

There was silence for a moment. 

 

“None in the immediate area” the mage informed her.

 

“Pity,” she mused, her voice filled with wistful regret. “I’d very much like to throw myself—or the two of you—into one right now.”

 

Solas sighed. 

 

Sera only cackled in unapologetic delight.

**Author's Note:**

>  **1: Hanal'ghilan:** "the pathfinder;" Elvish name for the mythical golden halla said by the Dalish to appear during times of great need.
> 
>  **2: Inan’leal:** Roughly translates to "bright eyes." _\--This is a bit of non-canon slang that I imaged Dalish elves might use when referring to someone possessing the ability to see in low light/darkness._
> 
> _**3: Inan’dianem: ** Roughly translates to "closed eyes." _\--This isn't even non-canon slang. It's just Solas being a snarky smartass.__


End file.
